


Future Knowledge And All That

by kira_katrine



Category: Star Trek: Discovery, Star Trek: Lower Decks (Cartoon)
Genre: Crossover, F/F, Time Travel, in-universe historical inaccuracies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29594190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kira_katrine/pseuds/kira_katrine
Summary: When Beckett Mariner accidentally ends up more than a hundred years in the past, she initially assumes Michael Burnham is just another boring Starfleet commander. Soon, though, Mariner discovers that couldn't be further from the truth--that Burnham was actually Starfleet's first mutineer. And Starfleet obviously has some hang-ups about that sort of thing, but surely Burnham herself at least knows how awesome what she did was, right?Right?!Wrong.
Relationships: Michael Burnham/Beckett Mariner
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: Black Is Beautiful 2021





	Future Knowledge And All That

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyjax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyjax/gifts).



“Now, obviously, James T. Kirk is a classic,” Boimler droned on to the random woman who’d been assigned to the away mission with them, whose name Mariner had already forgotten. “But I really think Christopher Pike is just underappreciated by the current generation of cadets. Sure, maybe he’s not quite as flashy as your Kirks, but you have to appreciate a steady hand...” 

Mariner decided she couldn’t be bothered to ask in what universe someone with a literal Starfleet medal of valor _named after him_ qualified as ‘underappreciated,’ or why Boimler cared so much about some dead guy from a hundred years ago anyway. Or, at least, some ‘disappeared under unknown circumstances and was never heard from again’ guy, as far as Mariner knew. Which she’d admit did make him a bit more interesting, but no one ever really talked about that part. 

Boimler was still going on about Pike’s service record. Apparently, figuring out what was going on with the strange sensor readings they’d been detecting wasn’t super important. (Well, okay, no one actually _told_ them to do that, but it was definitely more interesting than the dumb mission they actually _had_ been sent on. Although that wasn’t really saying much.) Mariner decided to go off and look into it herself. She’d probably do an even better job without anyone else bothering her.

Scanning the area led her to the mouth of a cave, where the readings went from just weird to literally-off-the-charts-weird. She peered inside, noticing an odd blue glow coming from the depths. She knew going in there probably wasn’t the safest idea--but really, how was anybody supposed to find anything out or get anything done that way? She took a few steps in--

\--and was immediately grabbed by… something. Mariner yelled out as she was lifted off the ground by something very large, very blue and very slimy-looking. _Shit, shit, SHIT. Nope. Nope, I can get out of this. I can totally get out of this. I can get out of anything. Always have, right?_

She kicked the creature in what she could only assume was one of many eyes. It let out a loud screech and dropped her. Or more like flung her. Directly through the glowy blue thing.

And suddenly, Mariner found herself somewhere else entirely.

It looked like she was on a starship. Since she had definitely not been anywhere near a starship ten seconds before, she figured the glowy thing must have been some kind of portal. Unless it was something more like a transporter, or maybe the whole thing was a simulation, or… There were lots of possibilities. 

She was in a hallway, with several people around, all wearing uniforms. Mariner vaguely remembered there having been a whole lecture back in the Academy where they’d learned all the past Starfleet uniforms so that if they ever went back in time they’d be able to figure out roughly where they were. She thought these ones looked a bit like the mid-23rd century ones, maybe… but she knew the 22nd-century ones were a pretty similar color, which ones had the metallic trim again? That was probably 22nd, since it was mid-23rd century when they switched to the primary color scheme right after--

“Excuse me, who exactly are you?”

Mariner whirled around and saw a woman, wearing one of those dark blue uniforms, with some kind of metal apparatus on her face--Barzan, probably, it looked like the breathing device they used off-world. “Hey!” Mariner said. “Didn’t see you there, I’m sure you remember me, I was just--”

The woman pulled out an old-timey communicator. _Another point in the I-definitely-time-traveled column._ “Intruder alert.” _Crap._ Mariner immediately started running down the hall in the other direction.

“Computer, activate forcefield,” the woman said. _Double crap._

Mariner soon found herself in the brig. Again.

She was used to having to pass time in places like this, and so it didn’t feel like too horribly long before two officers walked in. One was the security officer (or at least, she assumed the woman was a security officer) who had brought her there in the first place. The other was…

...really, really hot, Mariner realized. 

“I’m Commander Michael Burnham of the USS Discovery, and this is Commander Nhan, our chief of security,” the gorgeous woman said. “We’d just like to know who you are and how you ended up on our ship.”

“I’m Ensign Beckett Mariner,” Mariner said. “And I’d tell you, but I honestly have no idea.” 

Nhan frowned. “What’s that on your jacket?”

Mariner looked down at herself and realized she was covered in bluish gunk. “There may have been a slight mishap with some kind of space slug.” 

“I’ll say.” Nhan glanced towards Mariner’s comm badge. “You’re wearing a Starfleet insignia,” she said, “but I don’t think I’m familiar with your uniform.”

“Right,” Mariner said. “I guess you wouldn’t be.”

“What does that mean?” Burnham asked.

“I think I time traveled,” Mariner said. “And if you guys don’t know my uniform, and presumably you actually paid attention in the Academy if you’re both commanders now, I think I’m probably from your future.”

Burnham and Nhan looked at each other. “We were getting some odd readings earlier,” Burnham said. “Tachyon radiation. She could be telling the truth.” She turned to Mariner. “What year do you think you came from?”

“2380,” Mariner said. “What year is this, then?”

“2257,” said Burnham. “And you really don’t know how you got here?”

“I think there was a portal,” Mariner said. “Or at least a blue glowing thing that really looked like it could have been one.”

Burnham nodded. She turned to Nhan. “We’ll have to figure out how to send her back.”

“What do we do with her in the meantime?” Nhan asked.

“I don’t think she’s a threat,” Burnham said. “We’ll keep an eye on her, but she shouldn’t have to stay in the brig. She should go to temporary quarters, maybe get herself a change of clothes. Why don’t you escort her there, and I’ll let Captain Pike know what’s going on--”

“Wait, seriously?” Mariner said. “ _The_ Captain Pike? Boimler would lose his mind if--” She fell silent at a look from Nhan.

 _If they really mean the same Pike,_ Mariner thought, _then I really did travel back in time._ But it was a bit weird that she’d never heard about the time the famous and _so clearly underappreciated_ Christopher Pike had served as captain of some random ship called Discovery in all her time on the Cerritos. Mariner smirked as she realized she was going to know so much stuff that none of her crewmates did when she eventually got back, and she wouldn’t even look like a nerd when she talked about it, because it would all be the result of an amazing time travel adventure that none of them got to go on.

Or at least, it would hopefully be amazing when she got out of the brig. 

When she got to her quarters, Mariner immediately looked up Commander Burnham on the ship’s computer. Just to get it out of her system, of course. To remind herself that this woman was just another normal boring Starfleet person who Mariner did not need to be thinking about in any other way.

Her crew profile came up. Burnham was a science officer, specializing in xenoanthropology and quantum physics. She’d lived on Vulcan, attended school there, then served in Starfleet for nearly nine years--

No, that wasn’t correct. There had been about a year and a half when she’d held no rank. Mariner frowned. What was up with that?

_5/2256, convicted of mutiny._

_11/2257, pardoned._

_Whoa._

Never, in her wildest hopes, had Mariner expected this. An actual mutineer in Starfleet’s ranks? Such things were almost unheard of (well, depending on how one counted mind control incidents, possessions, and evil transporter doubles--but Mariner suspected this wasn’t any of those). Someone who wouldn’t just stay quiet and do whatever she was told.

In other words, someone Mariner just had to get to know.

Mariner stood at the replicator, pretending to be pondering over the settings while actually sneaking glances at Commander Burnham, who was sitting by herself at a table eating her lunch. Someone cleared his throat behind Mariner. She ignored him. He did so again, louder this time. “Ugh, all right, fine,” Mariner said, picking up her tray and moving out of the way. She looked over at Burnham again. As far as she could tell, the other woman hadn’t noticed anything.

The truth was, Mariner had never felt quite this way before--not about a superior officer, anyway. Most of them were just super annoying and sounded like her parents or acted like they thought they were her parents or actually were her parents. But Michael Burnham was something different, and Mariner just _had_ to talk to her in a setting that wasn’t the brig and about things other than how she got there. And without acting like some kind of dork, because gross.

Mariner strolled over and sat down across the table from Burnham. “Hey.”

Burnham looked up. “Hello, Ensign,” she said. “What’s going on? Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Yeah,” Mariner said. “I guess you could say there is.”

“What is it?”

Mariner realized that blurting out _can you teach me how to be amazing like you_ would be extremely embarrassing, so settled for “You’re just a really different kind of Starfleet officer, you know? In the best way.”

Burnham looked blankly at Mariner for a moment. “Thank you?” Burnham said.

“I mean, I totally get it,” Mariner said. “It’s bad enough with my parents being who they are--can’t imagine living someplace where literally nobody on the entire _planet_ knows how to have any fun--”

“What are you talking about?” 

“What do you mean?” Mariner said. “Although I’m sure you’ve done plenty of other cool stuff so maybe that’s why you don’t know. I’m talking about your mutiny. Do you realize how awesome that is? What am I talking about, of course you do!”

Burnham stared at Mariner. “Ensign--”

“So why’d you do it, anyway?” She leaned slightly towards Burnham. “You couldn’t stand pretending to be someone you never were? Nodding along with everyone, pretending you weren’t super smart and badass and amazing? What was it?”

“What it was,” Burnham said, “was the worst mistake of my life.”

Mariner’s heart dropped. This was not the answer she’d expected. She wasn’t sure she even understood it. _Why would you even_ do _something like that if you were just going to regret it later?_ She stared at Burnham, speechless. Burnham stared back, her expression changing to one that looked more confused than anything. “Ensign?” she said.

“Um, I have to go,” Mariner said. “And do some… stuff.” She got up from the table and left the mess hall without looking back.

Mariner went back to her quarters, back to the computer. She had to find out more. There _had_ to be more to all this.

Apparently, Burnham was the adopted daughter of Ambassador Sarek. Who was also the father of Ambassador Spock. Which was odd, because Mariner had to do an entire paper on Ambassador Spock back in the Academy and she’d never heard anything about a sister… but then again, Vulcans were weird about this stuff. No one who’d ever met one should be surprised.

 _Top of her class at the Vulcan Science Academy… blah blah blah…_ Mariner was starting to think she should have just taken Commander Burnham at her word and left all this alone, but something kept her going--and there it was. The mutiny.

She’d been serving under Captain Philippa Georgiou at the time. And judging by the dates, this would have been right at the end of the middle part of Georgiou’s career, when she was one of those boring people Boimler wouldn’t shut up about, but right before the later part when she basically said to hell with all that and became a full-time ass-kicker, which Boimler had almost cried about when Mariner had broken the news to him. She’d assumed the change had happened as a result of what Georgiou had been through during the Klingon War, which seemed plausible enough to Mariner. She’d seen some stuff during the Dominion War herself.

But maybe it wasn’t just that. Maybe Georgiou changed because _she realized Burnham was right_.

“It all makes sense now,” Mariner said, staring at the computer screen. She spent about a second imagining what it might be like if her mother ever had a change of heart like that. But only about a second, because she realized that would somehow manage to still be incredibly embarrassing.

But something wasn’t adding up, Mariner realized. If Michael Burnham had really done everything Mariner was reading about, if she’d really been the first mutineer in Starfleet--

_\--why had Mariner never heard anything about all this?_

She realized it wasn’t actually all that surprising. It was, however, totally unfair--and not just unfair to Mariner.

Maybe Commander Burnham couldn’t be the hero Mariner had hoped for. But maybe, just maybe, Mariner could do something to help _her_.

Mariner snuck quietly onto the Discovery’s bridge. No one seemed to notice. All of them were intently listening to Captain Pike, Burnham, and a tall Kelpien officer, who were discussing some weird phenomenon that was happening.

“Judging by these tachyon spikes,” Burnham said, “this could have something to do with the appearance of our visitor.” _Visitor… that’s me!_ “I think we should look into it.”

“Of course,” Pike said. “Commander Saru, you lead the away team. Burnham, you go with him. And one more person--”

“I’ll do it!” _Yeah, never doing that again. That feels wrong._

Pike glanced at Mariner, a bit confused. “Ensign, you’re not actually a member of this crew.” He looked over the bridge. “Ensign Tilly, I’d like you to accompany them as well.”

The redhead at the science station grinned. “Yes, sir,” she said.

Mariner scowled as the three who’d been chosen left the bridge. How was she supposed to get Burnham’s attention _now_? Not to mention that some of what she’d overheard about the planet seemed kind of familiar, somehow...

Mariner left the bridge and headed towards the shuttle bay instead. She was pretty sure no one was going to notice what she was about to do. No one ever did.

Mariner peeked out from behind the bush she was hiding in. She’d realized this planet did indeed look very familiar. Too much to be a coincidence, even considering how similar some of the planets she’d visited tended to look. And then she’d seen the mouth of the cave, and she’d realized-- _duh, this is the same planet I was literally just on with Boimler and them! And whatever those readings were is the same thing--and it was the time portal, wasn’t it! I knew it was important._

She saw three figures approaching--the away team from the Discovery. Burnham and Saru looked like they were discussing something intently; Mariner couldn’t make out what. As she watched, Ensign Tilly started to wander away from the others, staring at her tricorder. She glanced up as she reached the mouth of the cave, and started to look inside--

“No! Don’t!” Tilly whirled around as Mariner leapt out of the bushes right at her.

“Where did you come from?” Tilly yelped. “And who the heck are you anyway?”

“I’m the mystery intruder I’m sure everyone’s been talking about,” Mariner said, trying to peer into the cave. She could see the blue glow from inside, but as far as she could tell, there was no sign of the slug thing, or anything like it, though it could just be deeper in. “And there might be some kind of big alien bug in that cave.”

Tilly made a face, then glanced down at her tricorder. “I am picking up life signs from in there,” she said. “They’re definitely unusual--”

“Life _signs_? More than one?” Mariner scanned the cave herself, using the tricorder she’d gotten from the stolen shuttle. Sure enough, there were several life signs inside. This couldn’t be good.

“What’s going on?” Burnham and Saru were walking over. “Is everything--what are you doing here, Mariner?”

“I had to find you!” Mariner said. 

Burnham looked from Mariner to Tilly, then sighed. She turned to Saru. “Why don’t you two keep investigating, and I’ll handle this.”

When Saru and Tilly had stepped away, Burnham turned to Mariner. “How did you even get here? And _why_?”

“I realized what’s been going on,” Mariner said. “It’s all a massive cover-up.”

Burnham looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

“The Federation obviously erased you from history because they didn’t want anybody to hear about your mutiny and get any inconveniently awesome ideas,” Mariner said. “That’s why I’d never heard of you before.”

“They did?” Burnham said. “Since when?”

“Since… I dunno, sometime after now, I guess, since all the information’s still there when I go and look for it now, but it definitely wasn’t back when I was in school--”

“Isn’t it more likely you just weren’t looking in the right places?”

“But you supposedly started a major war. And then also ended it. That shouldn’t be _that_ hard to find out about. And you were also the first human to attend the Vulcan Science Academy, but I never heard anything about that either--”

“Maybe you just weren’t paying attention.”

“No! I was! I definitely was!” _There’s no way I wouldn’t have paid attention to a class about someone as cool and gorgeous as you._ “When I go back to my own time, I’m going to blow this whole thing wide open!”

“You’re going to _what_?” Burnham actually looked slightly afraid. Which was weird, Mariner realized, if she really thought Mariner was just making a big deal out of nothing. “You really shouldn’t do that. Aren’t there rules about not sharing information like that when you time travel?”

“Yeah, but that’s only about bringing future knowledge into the past,” Mariner argued. “No one ever bothered making a rule about not bringing _past_ knowledge into the _future_. Probably because they realized how dumb that sounds.”

“You have also brought future knowledge to the past by telling me about this supposed cover-up in the first place,” Burnham pointed out. “And in any case, I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to--”

“Why not?” Mariner said. “Everyone should know how amazing you are. Or were, anyway. My friends would--”

“Because you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Burnham said. “You don’t know my story.”

“Yeah, that’s the whole point! I _don’t_ know, because Starfleet Command or whoever decided you were just too cool for anyone to--”

“I didn’t just mutiny because I was _bored_ , Ensign,” Burnham said. “Or because I like to be contrary or because I hate authority or whatever issue you’ve got going on. I thought I was saving lives. And instead, countless people died, because of me.” 

Mariner wasn’t really sure about that--different sources seemed to disagree, but it really didn’t seem at all clear that the war wouldn’t still have started if Burnham had acted differently--but she kind of didn’t want to admit to how much she’d read about this last night. It would probably just make her look like some kind of weird overinvested nerd. Which she was not. 

“My captain--Captain Georgiou--she was my mentor, my first real friend in a long time, and one of the most important people in my life. I think she saw me almost like the daughter she never had,” Burnham said. _Unlike mine,_ Mariner thought, _who sees me as the daughter she_ wishes _she never had_. “And she died because of what I did.”

“Wait, what?” Mariner said. “Didn’t she get rescued from Klingon prison or whatever and become a super awesome badass who was way too cool for Starfleet? Because that’s what I heard.” 

Burnham gave Mariner an odd look. “The point is, your actions have consequences,” she said. “Starfleet deals with matters of life and death every day--”

“Not on the Cerritos, we don’t,” Mariner laughed. “We just clean up loose ends, and believe me, that is exactly the way I like it.”

“You don’t ever want to do more than that?”

“Hell no,” Mariner said. “Why does everyone always ask that? It’s always, ‘duhhh, don’t you want to be a captain like your mom? Or an admiral like your dad?’ Or a commander like you, I guess? Well, I’m not them, and I’m not you, so if that’s all you have to say--”

“That’s not what I meant,” Burnham said. “Don’t you ever get tired of not caring?”

“Well, don’t you ever get sick of _this_?” Mariner said. “Of having all this responsibility? Having the entire freakin’ Federation on your shoulders, apparently?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Burnham said. “It’s not as though I have a choice.”

“And you think I do?” Mariner said. “Even if I did want to do other stuff, _which I don’t,_ it’s not like anybody would let me!”

Burnham paused. “Let you?” she asked. “Let you what?”

“Let me do things my way!” Mariner said. “Let me be myself! Let me actually help people without having to go through five billion stupid rules and protocols and then having the answer just be no anyway! I get it, okay, it’s never gonna happen, so why keep pretending?”

“Mariner--”

“I thought you were different,” Mariner said. “But you’re just the same as everyone else. I guess I might as well go home.” She stormed off into the cave.

“Mariner!” Burnham called from behind, but Mariner ignored her--until she realized there was no sign of the portal.

“But I just saw it,” she said to herself. “It was right in there…”

“What was where?” Burnham asked, catching up to her.

“The portal.” Where she was pretty sure it had been, she did see something she hadn’t noticed before (although she hadn’t exactly gotten a chance to get a good look when she’d first been there in her own time). Up on the wall, almost seeming to be glued to it, were several translucent blue spheres, each about the size of a small melon. And Mariner thought she could make out shapes moving inside them.

“Are those eggs?” Burnham asked.

“Probably.” Mariner looked at the tricorder reading she’d taken earlier. “A little while ago, when the portal was here, the things in them were growing fast,” she realized. “But now they’re not.”

“Could be they feed off the energy,” Burnham said. She started doing her own scan of the eggs. “They’ve been here about twelve days. And the periods of more rapid development seem to happen about every couple of hours or so. Their lengths are variable.”

“So I just have to wait and it’ll be back,” Mariner said. “And I’ll go home. You should go find the others. Let whoever cares know where I disappeared to--”

“Not yet,” Burnham said. “I’ll wait with you.”

“Really?” Mariner said. “Don’t you have anything else to do?”

“Making sure you’re okay is part of it,” Burnham said.

Mariner and Burnham sat on the floor of the cave, facing away from each other. Waiting.

“I didn’t mean to suggest you weren’t capable,” Burnham said. “Far from it. I don’t know you well, but I think you have a lot of potential--”

“Everyone says that,” Mariner said. “Or they used to, anyway. But somehow, they don’t mention what exactly they think I have potential to _do_. Because even they know it’s probably not anything I actually care about.”

“There is a place for someone like you in Starfleet--a very important one. If people get too stuck in their own ways, we never move forward.” Burnham paused thoughtfully. “You mentioned that you read about me ending the Klingon War. How much do you know about that?”

“Not much,” Mariner said. “Just that you did.”

“Starfleet Command came up with a plan to end it,” Burnham said. “A plan to destroy the Klingon home planet.”

“They were going to _what_ ?” As much as Starfleet protocols and norms seemed to be designed to piss Mariner off, she still hadn’t expected _that_. “But that didn’t happen. I know that didn’t.”

“No, it didn’t,” Burnham said. “Because none of us, none of this crew, were going to let that happen. And that’s what we told them. That wasn’t an option, we had to find another way.”

“And you did?” Mariner said.

“We did.”

“Huh,” she said. “Maybe _that’s_ what everyone back home needs to know.”

“If they really don’t already,” Burnham said, “then they absolutely do.”

Mariner smiled; part of her hadn’t actually been expecting Burnham to agree with that. “So you are proud of some of it.”

“Some of it, yes,” Burnham said. “The thing is, I really wasn’t in a good place emotionally when I did what I did on the Shenzhou. And it took me time to fully realize that, and after all that, I wouldn’t want someone like you just going out and trying to imitate me without knowing that. Especially since I get the impression you’re maybe not in the best place yourself right now.”

“I mean, if you had fired on the Klingons, they probably would’ve thought you were pretty badass, at least,” Mariner said. “Judging by the ones I’m friends with, anyway.”

“You’re friends with--never mind, I won’t ask,” Burnham said as Mariner opened her mouth. _Right. Future knowledge and all that._ “You don’t have to tell me what’s going on if you don’t want to--but I want you to keep it in mind, when you get back to your ship, and maybe tell _someone_.”

Mariner sat quietly for a few moments. Then she figured she might as well tell Burnham at least some of it. After all, it wasn’t like she knew anyone involved, or ever would. And maybe someone should know, and it really couldn’t be anyone on the Cerritos.

“My captain is my mom,” Mariner said. “Like, she’s literally my mother.”

“Wow,” Burnham said. “I’m surprised Starfleet let that happen, actually.”

“Yeah, well,” Mariner said, “they wouldn’t have if there was any other captain who’d take me on. The Cerritos is my fifth posting since I graduated from the Academy. And she will never, ever let me forget it.”

“That sounds like a lot to deal with.”

“I know!” Mariner said. “I spent so long trying to make her and my dad happy, but nothing I did was ever enough, and at some point I realized I was just giving up too much for it, you know? I couldn’t be that perfect little model officer. I just couldn’t. And it wasn’t worth it to keep trying.”

“I know what you mean,” Burnham said.

“It’s like she just can’t admit she’s ever wrong,” Mariner went on. “Sometimes I feel like none of the high-ranking Starfleet people can. Except for you.”

“You might be surprised,” Burnham said, “if you ever got to know some of them.” Mariner’s doubt must have shown on her face, because Burnham went on. “It really is an important skill to learn. For all of us.”

“I guess.”

“So you’ve said you don’t want to be a commander or a captain or an admiral,” Burnham said after a few moments. “And you’ve made it clear you don’t just want to do what everyone else tells you. But what _do_ you want to do?”

Mariner blinked. People didn’t really ask her that very much. “I’m not sure,” she said.

“That’s okay,” Burnham said. “Sometimes, even I still feel like that. Sometimes I even feel the same way you do about the rules, even after all my time in Starfleet and everything that’s happened, and I still don’t know what I’m going to do about it. You definitely don’t have to know everything now.”

“What if what I want to do is basically what I’m already doing?”

“Then do it,” Burnham said. “But don’t do it because you want to get back at your mother, or because you feel like you have no other choice. Do it because it means something to you.”

There was a slight hum as the portal flickered back into being. Mariner glanced at Burnham. This had actually been kind of nice, she realized. She found herself a bit disappointed that she had to go.

Mariner heard a squelching noise from the direction of the portal. She turned to look--and realized the eggs were hatching, little(er) slimy blue things crawling out, looking around with their many eyes, waving their feathery-looking feelers in the air.

“They’re actually kind of cute,” Mariner said.

“I see what you mean,” Burnham said, smiling. She shook her head. “I guess.”

Mariner moved a bit closer, putting her arm around Burnham’s shoulders. Burnham looked a little startled at first, then relaxed into Mariner's touch.

“If you’re going to go back to your own time through there,” Burnham said after a little while, “you should probably do it soon. Who knows how long it’ll stay active this time.”

“Yeah,” Mariner said. “I guess.” She sighed. “I just wish I could spend more time with you.”

“I really am glad we met,” Burnham said. “At the end of it all… I’m sure I won’t forget you any time soon.”

“Yeah, you won’t,” Mariner said, and then she was kissing Michael Burnham, and Burnham was kissing her back, and it was so, _so_ nice, and soft, and sweet, and Mariner really, _really_ wished this didn't have to be the end of whatever this was. 

“Seriously, though, don’t forget me,” Mariner said when they broke apart. “Don’t get stuck. Keep being your awesome self.”

Burnham smiled. “I’ll do my best.”

* * *

“...and I went back through the portal, and there I was back on the planet again,” Mariner explained to the man across the table. He’d introduced himself as a member of the Department of Temporal Investigations, brought her here, and insisted on hearing about her “little adventure,” as he’d called it. “The one in this time, I mean.”

“I see,” said the man. He narrowed his eyes. “Ensign Mariner. By my records, this isn’t your first run-in with us, is it?” 

“Nope,” Mariner said, pointing finger guns in his direction. They were not returned. 

“Then consider yourself lucky we’re going easy on you.”

“Whatever,” Mariner said. Something was odd about this guy. He was right--she had met temporal agents before--but they had normal comm badges, usually. This guy had a black one instead, and-- _oh. Shit._

“But understand this, Ensign,” the man said. “You can never tell anyone else any of what you learned about Commander Michael Burnham or the USS Discovery.”

“Why not?” Mariner asked. She had to know--after everything that had happened, she wasn’t just going to walk away with _nothing_.

The man raised an eyebrow. “Obviously I can’t tell you that.”

“You won’t get away with this,” Mariner said. “You can’t keep the truth from everyone forever! You can’t just remove a whole person from history because you’re afraid of what people might do--that woman was a Federation hero, and everyone should know--”

“I assure you,” the man said, “my colleagues and I are well aware.”

“...You are?” Mariner said. “So the reason for all this isn’t because you’re worried she’ll tarnish the history of the Federation or--”

“No, it's not,” said the man. “It’s anything but.”

Mariner folded her arms. “I still don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to.” He paused. “There is still one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“There was a time when my… organization actually considered itself committed to Michael Burnham’s legacy and example,” he said. “Certain predecessors of ours made sure of that. But things have changed since their time, and I suspect we’ve all suffered for it. You’re quite a creative person, from what we’ve heard. Someone who really thinks outside the box. You could do some good work for us.”

Mariner’s eyes narrowed. “For Temporal Investigations?”

“Sure, we’ll go with that.” He extended a hand to Mariner. “So, what do you think?”

“I think I’m going to stay where I am,” Mariner said. “For now, anyway.”

“Oh?”

“I want to stay in Starfleet,” she said. She knew this was no mere ‘Temporal Investigations.’ She knew if she took him up on his offer, she’d still find herself pulled away from what she wanted, only in a somewhat different direction. Plus, she didn’t have time to help these guys find themselves--she had enough of that going on with herself. “There’s plenty for me to do right there.” _Plenty of ways for me to do the right thing by her. Make sure everything she did mattered._

“You’re choosing to stay… on the Cerritos?” the man said. “Do I have that right?”

“Yep,” Mariner said. “You have to admit, I’m a pretty great ensign.”


End file.
